Down Time
by Valerie E. Mackin
Summary: Connor has some time alone to sit and think, but he really doesn't appreciate it. M for language only. Fits in the same universe as my other Boondock Saints stories, but can be read alone.


Connor's brow furrowed as he stared down at his prone twin. Machines beeped, motors whirred, but Murph just lay there like the dead. Connor shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought. Wouldn't do a damned bit of good, would it?

"Jesus, Murph, ye royally fucked up dis time." The doctor had said Murph had a 50/50 chance of pulling through at this point. The sooner he woke, the better chance he'd probably have.

"Knowin' you, man, ye'd probably just fuck somet'in else up and end up wit' worse odds…ye damn fool. Might as well sleep it off, I guess. Always works fer yer damn hangovers."

Connor leaned back in the hospital chair, letting his head fall back against the wall, and closed his eyes as he rubbed tiredly at his face. This had started out as one of the longest nights of his life, and it wasn't looking like it would end any time soon. Call it whatever you wanted: a job gone wrong, a bad decision, poor judgment…the end result was the same.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all that.

Connor returned his gaze to Murphy, bone-weary and jittery at the same time. Relaxing at home was one thing, a fine thing, really, or hanging out with Murph and the boys at McGinty's…but this sitting here in this room, this wasn't exactly what Connor considered relaxing down time, and he needed something to do. He couldn't just sit around, waiting for Murph to go one way or the other. He couldn't just sit here and watch his brother…well…

Surely there was something he could do.

He drummed his fingers on the chair arm, alternating glances between his idiot brother and the door, sure the police would come bursting in any moment. This waiting was going to drive him insane. He glanced again at Murph and leaned forward, inspecting the bandages that swathed large areas of his brother. They'd handled massive amounts of injuries before and come out fine. Hell, Roc had lost a fucking finger, and they'd handled it.

But this was too much. He didn't even know his brother had that much blood in him, much less could lose that much and still be breathing. Then he glanced down at himself, realizing for the first time where a lot of his brother's blood had actually gone.

"Fuckin' hell, Murph, why'm I always t'one cleanin' up yer fuckin' messes?" Connor grumbled, then stood and went to search for a bathroom. He turned and studied his brother a moment longer before firmly shutting the door behind him. He went to the nurses' station, not sure of the reaction a blood-covered man would get, but at the moment he was mostly too exhausted to care. Besides, they'd been seeing him for the last few hours, surely they were used to him by now. From the wince he got when the nurse at the desk spotted him, though, apparently not.

"You lookin' for somewhere to clean up, hun?"

Connor nodded wearily. "And I wouldn't be sayin' no to a spare shirt or such, if someone could part wit' it, either."

The nurse smiled a little and nodded her head back in the direction he'd come. "Go three doors past your brother's room and wash up a bit. I'll see what I can find for you."

Connor returned her smile, and started to turn for the bathroom, then hesitated. "Miss, I don't quite know how to ask this, but…well, has anyone…er…called-"

The nurse cut him off briskly, turning and stacking some paperwork and folders together. "We're required by law to notify police of gunshot wounds. A Detective Duffy was notified but said they are terribly busy down at the station. No one will be able to make it down here to interview either of you for several days at the earliest."

Connor let out a long breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in. "T'ank ya, miss. 'Tis kind of ya to inform me of yer procedures here." He turned and began making his slow, somewhat painful way toward the bathroom. He remembered vaguely that not all of the blood on him was Murph's, but he didn't think it was anything too serious. At least he was conscious.

"Downright…saintly of me, you could almost say." Connor's steps faltered a moment, but her heard the smile in her voice, and he continued on. She wasn't the one he needed to be worrying about. He needed that fucking retard of a brother of his to wake up. Duffy could only keep the cops at bay for so long before someone would have to come investigate.

...

Several minutes later, a vastly cleaner Connor returned to the room and collapsed in the chair beside his brother's bed. He studied his brother's face for a moment, even paler than normal from blood loss. His dark hair and stubble contrasted sharply with the pallor of his skin, and Connor wondered briefly how long it had been since Murphy'd been out in the sun. He was starting to look like one of those vampires in those old black and white movies that came on at three in the morning.

"Murph, what were ye thinkin', man?" He shook his head. Slower to speak up than his brother, Murphy was definitely the one who would act first rather than think a situation through.

"Ye do know I'm not meant to be an only child, right?" Connor sighed and dropped his head in his hands, his words coming out muffled now. "Ma'd kill me if she called and found out I'd let you die on me watch. Y'ain't s'posed to go wit'out me. Fuck, Murph. Ye shouldn't have gone in first. I fuckin' told ye to wait fer me, it was part of th'damn plan, and look what yer fuckin idiot self did!"

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his frayed nerves. "I ain't meant to do dis job meself, Murph. The Good Lord and people of Boston didn't name us Just the One Saint…there's two of us. I…damn it, ye shtupid fuck, I need ye." He let all of this out in a rush, still with his face in his hands, listening to the steady beeping of the machines in the room.

Then Murphy coughed and said weakly, "Well, fuck, man, if I'd known ye were gonna go all emotional and shit on me, I mighta done dis years ago. I'd almost t'ink ye cared or some shit. Smecker'd have some choice words t'call ye right now. Maybe I should go find that drag queen ye slept wit' that one time."

Connor laughed and dropped his hands. "At least I'm not a fuckin' invalid who couldn't even walk right now if he tried. And if I had slept with her…er, him, I'd've shown her a damn good time." Murphy shifted in bed as if to prove Connor wrong right then, but Connor poked one of the plethora of Murphy's injuries, and his brother fell back with a curse.

"Just rest fer a moment, there, Murph. Duffy's handlin' the situation, and we've got a couple of days before we've gotta get ye outta here."

Murphy shook his head in bewilderment, his brow furrowed in an unconscious mimic of Connor's earlier expression. "What t'fuck happened back there? Last t'ing I remember was kickin' th' door open, then gunshots and somebody screamin'."

Connor laughed again, relief making him giddy. "Dat somebody was you, ye fuckin' female. I fuckin' told ye not run in dere early, all half-cocked, and now look where it's gotten ye."

Murph smirked at his brother. "At least my half's bigger than yer whole"

Connor shook his head and sighed. "Is dat right, Rambo? Ye sure ye don't need to slip back inta dat dere coma? I could help ye out, ye know. 'Tis what brudders are for."

Author's Note: I was trying to come up with a story about an actual job that went wrong, but I realized that while I might do alright writing smut and angst and even comedy, I'm not so good with the action. Maybe I'll get there eventually, but right now, this is what we've got. Fits in the same universe my other Boondock Saints things, but can be read solo. Appreciate any and all reviews. Thanks for reading!


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